


Wild Things Go Only Where the Wind Decides

by LarasLandlockedBlues



Series: A Beautiful Disaster [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, Marriage Proposal, One Shot, POV Original Female Character, Porn with Feelings, Relative to another fic, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Smut, impulsive character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23818345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues
Summary: It had only been one night - but when the opportunity presents itself, she can't resist.She has to be where he is, no matter the distance between them.
Relationships: Rylen (Dragon Age)/Original Character(s), Rylen (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: A Beautiful Disaster [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1443415
Comments: 28
Kudos: 33





	Wild Things Go Only Where the Wind Decides

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot possibly deserves a long explanation...
> 
> It's been sitting in my Drive for ages, and I've been debating yeeting it out into the world. The thing is...
> 
> My Cullen muse is dead.
> 
> Honestly most of my Dragon Age muse is dead. I can still write Rylen, because he and Abby are my OTP. Beyond them, however, my connection to this fandom has essentially disintegrated. I only interact insomuch as I write for them, and then throw it out onto AO3. That's it.
> 
> The unfortunate thing is - this means Beautiful Disaster is practically dead in the water. It breaks my heart for several reasons, the least of which is that I have an outline for finishing it. I refuse to force writing, however, no matter how close I am to finishing a project. And so I find myself unable to figure out how to handle all of this. So I decided on this.
> 
> I am sharing this one shot, as if I am crossing off a To Do List item. And I might update BD with the outline, with the plans for what would have been so that readers can have even a glimmer of closure. It's the best I can do as I continue to move on to other interests while still losing myself to Abby/Rylen hell.
> 
> This fic, as a friend asked me, sparks joy. And so here, have the continuation of this verse's Abigail/Rylen pairing. It was meant to be published after the next chapter of BD, but now that I doubt that happening, I decided to share it as is. I loved writing them without the usual obstacles, able to meet and act upon their feelings and desires with one another right off the bat. Usually they have baggage between them, reasons to hold back - this was fun to explore them without those. This piece makes me happy, and I hope it makes you happy as well.
> 
> xx,  
> Lara
> 
> Title comes from ["Wild Things" by Coast Modern](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Am_53ZF28Xc).

> _Cabot,_
> 
> _I appreciate the time I spent here, and the risk you took hiring a Vint like me. Nice to know not all Southerners think us blood-crazed Magisters or Venatori._
> 
> _Sorry to say though that it’s time for me to go. It’s been a pleasure. And don’t worry, I already asked Rosie to take on the extra work I was doing._
> 
> _Abigail_

The note she left on the door, and only vaguely does she wonder if she should have told him in person.

But the caravan is packing up and beginning to roll out, and she has to get on it. She knows she could easily make her way on her own, as she did before, only now she worries about being taken for a Venatori or rebel mage on the trek across Orlais.

And so she pulls the hood of her cloak up against the bitter wind of the predawn and slings her leather pack over her back. She glances around the courtyard one last time, realizing that this place had almost felt like a home. Now though, something feels - different.

Lacking.

As she pulls herself onto the back of one of the carts, she sets her bag down and searches instead for the letter, sudden panic that it fell out seizing her. It’s right where she left it, and she pulls it out. In the few days since she received it, she’s read it again and again, until the creases are almost flat now instead of perfectly crisp as they had been when the Commander handed it to her.

Unfolding it now, she smiles to herself as she reads it, listening to the creaking wheels and the marching soldiers around her.

> _Lass,_
> 
> _I know I’d told you I was safe and sound and likely on my way back to you, but duty has arisen again. There’s an old keep out here that the Inquisitor reclaimed from the Venatori, and the Commander needs me to look after it._
> 
> _I knew when I left I might not come back, but after the battle was won I will admit I was looking forward to seeing you again. I got the letter you sent and it gave me more than a few ideas. I suppose I’ll have to save them for whenever I make it back to you._
> 
> _The weeks we’ve been apart have only stoked my desires for you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the night we spent together, and I hope it’s often been on your mind as well._
> 
> _The Commander knows how to get word to me, and if you’d write again I’d appreciate it. I want to know you’re doing well, and if you would - tell me that you’re waiting for me. One word from you and I’ll leave you alone, but if you still want me, I’ll come to you as soon as my duties in the Approach are done._
> 
> _I’ll be dreaming of tasting your sweet lips and losing myself in that pretty little cunt until I’m back in your bed once more._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Rylen_

“He asked me to let you know,” the Commander had said as he passed over the letter. “If it weren’t for the situation in the Approach, I would not have asked him to stay and personally oversee it…”

“Thank you for telling me,” she had murmured, staring at the slightly untidy _“Abigail”_ on the outside of the letter.

Now she folds it up again, chewing her lip as she looks at the procession of Inquisition forces making its way through the Frostbacks. The impulse had built within her until she couldn’t stand it, laying awake at night remembering how it felt to be in his arms. When he had sent word that the battle was won and he had survived, she had been happier than she had thought she would be.

Weeks of wondering if she would ever see him again had come to an end - only to come back with the arrival of this letter.

There was very little that held her to Skyhold. The Inquisition had been as good a place as any to go when she ran away from the Imperium, finally fed up with her life and the state of her homeland. But besides her burgeoning friendship with the Commander’s wife, her life at Skyhold was losing its excitement.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

Tossing and turning for a few nights had finally led her to this.

She settles back into the sacks that fill the cart, pulling her cloak more tightly around her. It will take weeks to get to Griffon Wing Keep, but moving feels better than working restlessly at the Herald’s Rest.

Especially because at the end of the journey is him.

* * *

The Keep is surrounded by sand, and nothing else. Abigail looks around as she passes beneath the portcullis, feeling only a slight amount of regret that she’s come to this barren wasteland.

Really, the regret is perhaps that she didn’t come sooner. Weeks alone here, only working to oversee the small forces he kept here with him, and she vaguely realizes she didn’t send a letter ahead. How long has he been wondering if he would ever hear from her again?

As she turns in the courtyard, trying to get her bearings, she finally hears the deep boom of a familiar voice. She knows its softer edges, how tender it can sound, and turns eagerly toward where he’s barking orders at the new arrivals.

“Don’t just drop everything there, laddie, it’s in the way,” he’s scolding. “Supplies are going over there - you, help him out, would you?”

“Yes, Captain!”

The forces scatter to carry out his orders, and for a moment he stands alone, staring at the crowd filing into the keep. He looks weary, his skin ruddy from weeks in the hot sun, and she watches as he pulls his helmet from his head to run his hand through his chestnut waves.

She wants to go to him, immediately, but as much as she longs to she realizes he has his duties. The new forces in the keep need his guidance, so that they can all get settled before the sun sets in a few hours. Looking around she sees kitchen goods being unloaded, and decides to bide her time and do what she can to help in the meantime.

* * *

The desert is positively tranquil once the sun sets, and the patrols are some of the only movement and bustle within the keep now. Working to help stock the kitchens passed the time faster than she expected, and now she realizes she wants to find him.

As she begins to think where to search for his room, one of the servants comes into the kitchen and catches her attention.

“The Captain’s bath is filled, but I need to get his evening meal up to him,” they mutter. “If you could start on prepping breakfast -”

“I can run his meal up to him and see to his bath,” Abigail quickly offers. “No need to worry about it.”

The servant nods gratefully, pointing out a plate and a tankard of ale. Abigail picks them both up and smoothly sails out of the room, navigating the halls of the keep at a brisk pace. As she approaches a patrol, she stops them and smiles.

“Can you fellas point me to the Captain’s quarters?” she asks, batting her eyelashes as she gestures the plate and mug she holds.

They point her further down the hall and she nods before continuing. Her heart is hammering against her ribs, and when she stops outside the door she takes a deep breath.

_Will he be happy to see me?_

Burying the doubt, she knocks and hears a gruff, _“aye, come in,”_ before she turns the door handle.

The Captain’s quarters are small, lit by flickering candles lining the desk in the middle of the room. In one corner is a cot that looks hardly big enough for him. Along the opposite wall is a partition, which she can tell is blocking a metal tub and his armor stand from view.

“You can leave the food there by the door,” Rylen murmurs. He’s sitting at his desk poring over parchment before him, his forehead in a hand as he reads.

She sets the food where he tells her, but carries the tankard of cool ale to set before him on the desk. He mutters a quick word of thanks and picks it up, and she buries the laughter she wants to give at the fact that he still has yet to look up.

Lowering her voice and affecting a rougher accent, she glances to the partition. “Should I check on yer bath, serrah?”

When he merely grunts into his ale and drags his hand across his brow, she turns away and circles the partition. The water is still warm, but quickly getting cold the longer he sits and works. Sighing she stands and puts her hands on her hips, trying to decide how she wants to approach this.

It’s far too much fun to think of the surprise he’ll be in for when he realizes that it’s her.

With a slight groan of wood she realizes he’s standing up from the desk, and she turns so that he won’t see her face when he comes over to the bath. She can hear him working on the clasps of his armor, and glances surreptitiously over her shoulder.

Luckily his back is to her, and she crosses to stand behind him.

“Let me help you, serrah,” she tells him, and works on the buckles at the back of his armor.

“Aye, thank you,” he says, and he takes each piece they remove and hangs them on his stand. He stretches as he shuffles to the tub, and quickly shucks off his breeches before he sinks into the water.

There’s bruising on his back and arms, garish green, blue, and purple injuries marring his tan skin. It pains her to see, realizing some are likely weeks old but they’ve just been covered with new ones. He’s facing away from her, leaning his head back against the rim of the tub, and she finally decides she can’t keep up the ruse any longer.

“Thank you, lass, that’s all,” he says, as if he finally realizes that she’s still in the room.

But she slips her shoes off as quietly as she can, followed quickly by the blouse and breeches she wears. In just her breastband and smallclothes she tiptoes to the tub and kneels behind him.

Slowly she reaches a hand past his shoulder for the water. His eyes must be closed because he doesn’t stop her, and she carefully places her hand on the surface. Channeling her magic she focuses on heating the water once more, but the moment her mana flares he sits up with a start and grasps her wrist.

“What the blasted -” he cries, his grip painful as he turns to face her.

“Your water was getting cold,” she tells him simply, meeting his wide-eyed gaze with a smirk.

For several moments all he can do is stare at her, and then his hold on her wrist loosens, but only slightly. He pulls her closer to him until she’s leaning over the rim of the bath so he can slide his fingers into her hair.

“Lass, are you - I nodded off at my desk, didn’t I,” he murmurs. But he frowns as he continues to stroke her hair, and he tugs her to him for a searing kiss. “At least if I’m dreaming, it’s a sweet one.”

“You’re not dreaming,” she assures him.

“You’re really here? When did you get here?”

“With the caravan today,” she answers with a bright smile. “Figured you must be lonely, out here all alone in the desert.”

He merely stares, as if he’s letting her words sink in, and then in one swift movement he lifts her into the tub. The water splashes over the sides and she gives a yelp as she finds herself suddenly cradled in his lap and soaking wet. Rylen holds her to him, kissing her greedily as if he’s drowning and she’s the air he desperately needs.

When he releases her at last, she twists her hands into his hair and rests her forehead against his. “Are you happy I came?”

“Happy is just one word for it, lass,” he purrs. “I missed you.”

_I missed you too._

She smiles and places a hand on the water, again making an effort to heat it. This time he lets her, letting out a soft moan as the heat encompasses them both.

“Take these off, they’re in my way,” he tells her, gesturing at the smallclothes she’s wearing.

“You’re the one who pulled me in here without letting me take them off,” she chides. But she strips bare, throwing the wet garments onto the stone floor. “Let me take a look at your back.”

“What?”

“You’re bruised, and likely injured.” She sits back, trying to give him room to navigate in the tub. “I can heal you, you’ll feel a lot better. Trust me.”

He grumbles for a moment, but then stands so that he can turn more easily. Presenting her with his back, he sinks back into the tub and she parts her thighs to let him nestle between her legs.

“Anywhere else hurt?” she asks as she begins to channel sage green warmth into his back.

He groans, hanging his head and slowly relaxing beneath her touch. “My wrist and thigh have been twingeing something awful,” he mutters after a moment.

Once she’s finished with his back she slides her hands along his arms, pulling him against her chest so that she can reach around to his wrist. He purrs contentedly, snuggling into her embrace.

“A man could get used to this.”

“Is that so?” she teases, but she bites her lower lip to try to hide the wide smile spreading across her face. She carefully takes his wrist into her hand, still channeling her soothing magic. “Which thigh?”

“This one.” He points to his right, and she rests her hand on it. “Lass, that feels wonderful.”

“I told you,” she murmurs. When she’s finished with his thigh she lets her touch linger, slowly dragging her fingers up. She has to lean slightly to reach around his bulk, and notices that his eyes are closed as he relaxes back into her.

Smiling wickedly to herself she moves her touch to his cock, half-hard and bobbing slightly in the water. Taking it in hand she slowly trails her fingers up, savoring the deep moan that meets her explorations.

“Abigail,” he breathes. “I’ve dreamt of you for weeks.”

“Me too,” she lets herself confess in his ear. “But you’re not dreaming anymore.”

As if he realizes her words are true he suddenly sits up in the bath, pulling away from her. He clambers slightly awkwardly out of the tub because of his size, and then he turns back to her. His length is fully hard, glistening from the water still running down him, and he bends to pull her bodily from the water.

Abigail squeals happily, looping her arms around his neck as he carries her to the bed in the corner. He lays her gently on it before he takes his place over her, nudging her legs apart so that he can settle between them.

“I’d almost started to worry when you hadn’t sent a letter,” he tells her softly.

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” she admits, feeling her cheeks heat after she says it. When she searches his gaze she finds only tenderness there, happy acceptance of her words and actions.

“I’m glad you couldn’t, Abigail.”

His kiss is slow but devours her, leaving her breathless as his hands wander over her, caressing and pulling her closer to him, as if he can’t get enough of her. Weeks apart hadn’t diminished the memories of their night together, and she eagerly returns his passion as she reaches for him. Taking his hard length in her hand, she slowly strokes it a few times before she guides it to her.

When he slides into her she trembles, clutching him to her as she realizes just how desperately she had craved and missed this. No one else had ever left her utterly aching in their absence, and at first she had cursed her impulse to take him into her bed when she knew he would be leaving.

All it had done was give her something to lose.

Now, though, she realizes this is more than impulse, more than lust. It wasn’t a desire to be in his bed again that brought her across half of Thedas, and she was a fool to let herself think that was all this is.

“Rylen,” she gasps, clinging to him as he moves above her. Each stroke is like fire, and she can barely hold onto her tenuous control over her magic.

“My lass,” he breathes against her lips, and he reaches down to pull her thigh around him, gripping it as he continues his thrusts against her. “Abigail, I want -”

“I think I lo -”

They both cut off their confessions as they find their release, writhing together in a desperate embrace, as if they could meld into one person if they hold on tightly enough. She buries her face against his chest, breathing deeply as she tries to steady herself, as she lets all of her realizations sink in.

“I want to marry you,” Rylen murmurs after several long moments spent still wrapped up in one another.

Abigail giggles softly, rubbing her cheek against the soft dusting of hair that covers the tattoo across his broad chest. “I think I must want that too,” she tells him. “After all, I just traveled across Orlais to be with you in a rundown old keep in the desert.”

He chuckles, the deep reverberations against her making her smile. “Aye, you batty lass,” he teases. “Surely you didn’t think you just missed my cock?”

“I missed that too,” she counters, tilting her head so she can wink at him. “But I - I don’t know. I’ve never felt this, and I just knew I couldn’t let it pass me by.”

“I love you,” Rylen tells her. His aqua eyes have taken on a determined gleam, his piercing gaze never leaving hers.

“I - I think I love you too,” she breathes.

He places a knuckle beneath her chin, keeping her head tilted so that he can lean down to press his lips to hers. After several long, languid moments he pulls away from the kiss. “There’s a Chantry sister here, but if you’d rather wait until we’re back -”

“No,” she interrupts, shaking her head and offering a bright smile. “I don’t have any family down south, not many friends to speak of. But I have you, and if you’re there, that’s all that matters.”

Rylen brushes her hair off her face and then runs the pad of his thumb over her lips. “I was right.”

“About what?” She frowns up at him, curious at the humorous glint in his eyes.

“I said I’d marry you the moment I saw you,” he tells her. “And I was right. Mrs. MacCallum.”


End file.
